Crossover
by Shambhalasoulful
Summary: The two of them have crossed so many borders already, this one seems only natural. A continuation to Midnight at the Oasis. Heavily revised and extended.


**A/N**: Ah, we've finally come to the precipice. After three fics that only _hinted_ at something more, we've finally reached it in all its fluff-filled glory. A heartfelt thanks to all my readers and reviewers; this baby wouldn't exist without you! Enjoy, everyone! Feedback is always, always appreciated.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Nurarihyon no Mago_. Probably a good thing. Heh.

**Heavily revised (and extended) on March 16, 2013.**

* * *

_I don't wanna cross over_

_Between this genre, that genre_

_Between you and I is where_

_I wanna cross over, cross the line_

_I just wanna go further_

_Between here and there grow wiser_

_Together you and I-we can_

_Cross all borders, you and I_

_-__**Crossover Interlude, Utada Hikaru**_

* * *

Sunbeams stream through the paper-paneled doors and slither across the wooden floor to illuminate the rumbled futon in the center of the room. Fingers of light touch upon the bedding and slide into the small gaps between the sheets…and a noisy grumble issues from the bedding.

"Stupid, _frickin'_ sun."

Reluctantly, an ebony head of hair rises from the depths of the blankets, strands disheveled with heavy sleep. Equally dark eyes open to survey their surroundings, and she sighs as the events of the previous day return. Slowly, the young woman arranges the sheets around her waist before reaching for the tie holding her borrowed yukata closed, and she grimaces as her muscles complain. As the fabric falls open, the bandages wrapped around her torso become visible, and she presses cautious fingers to the sore areas.

_Damn, guess that yokai got a better shot in than I thought. At least he's worse off._

Just as she closes the robe and reties the sash, a light knock resonates on the outside door panel, and a voice sounds.

"Yura-san? Are you awake?"

"I guess. Come on in."

The door slides open and the brunet head of Rikuo pokes inside, glasses perched on his nose and a warm smile on his lips.

"Good morning!"

Yura lifts an eyebrow at his cheer. "You're way too happy for so early in the morning."

"I guess I'm an early bird. And it's actually noon." Chuckling, the boy sidles the rest of the way into the room, a small tray balanced on his palm.

Yura blinks, then slaps her forehead. "Jeez, I must really be out of it."

"Not as much as you were last night. The entire house is pretty much waking with you, anyway, and they're in _much_ worse shape."

The girl's still getting her bearings when Rikuo settles next to her, placing the tray next to the futon and grabbing the bandages off the low-legged table. She starts slightly when he gently grasps her chin, rotating her head to and fro with a critical eye. A quick examination and he releases his hold with an encouraging smile.

"You're looking much better since yesterday. Zen's treatment worked like a charm, but he still wants you to take it easy, so no washing up until later."

Allowing his inspection, she toys with her bedding somewhat sheepishly. "Sorry I've been such a hassle."

"Don't be silly." She looks up in surprise to see him calmly arranging the bandages into order. "You know you're welcome here, regardless of the circumstances. And it isn't like you injured yourself on purpose."

His words echo with truth, but she still feels a twinge of embarrassment at her fragile state.

_No doubt I'll have to employ some help to get around. Hopefully, my body'll start to cooperate before too long._

"There! All set."

She looks down and sees the organized medical station Rikuo has created. The fresh dressings lie in tidy rows, and a small stone teapot and cup occupy the tray he entered with. She raises her eyes to his.

"All set for what?"

He smiles at her poorly concealed skepticism. "Well, first we're going to have you take some more of Zen's medicine, and then we're going to replace your bandages."

"You're gonna play my nurse-maid? Where's Zen?"

"Home. He needed to restock on supplies, so I volunteered to care for you until he comes back." Rikuo shrugs, feigning seriousness, though a smile twitches at his lips. "I've done this plenty of times, but if you're nervous, our next door neighbor has a daughter who works at the hospital." The smile grows. "I can ask to borrow one of her old uniforms."

Yura breath cuts out as an image of Rikuo in high-heels and pantyhose rises unbidden to her thoughts, and she can't stop the laugh that bursts from her lips. Rikuo joins in her amusement, ginger eyes crinkling at the corners as he pours the medicinal liquid into the cup and holds it out to her. "Guess not. Seems you'll just have to trust me."

She takes the cup, laughter subsided, and eyes the beverage with slight disdain. "Is this the same stuff that knocked me out last night?"

"Not quite. This one'll let you stay awake but still take care of any pain."

"Ah." Seeming harmless enough, she takes an experimental sip. Unlike the bitter taste of the previous concoction, this one's subtle flavor leaves a pleasant coolness trailing down her throat, and she swallows another mouthful in approval while Rikuo waits patiently and straightens the bandages at his side. She watches him with curiosity, and the confidence in his gaze and in his hands humors her.

"Thinking of making a career change?"

He chuckles as he politely motions for her to turn around. "Yōkai yakuza leader to onmyōji doctor? Sounds interesting. It would definitely fit in with our theme of the unconventional."

She looks to the ceiling as she raises her arms, attempting to give him better access to her bandages. "Is that a tradition or something, each generation trying to outdo the other in originality?"

"Kind of. It's really more of a family contest than anything. Grandpa became the Lord of Pandemonium and married my grandmother, who was a human princess. Dad led the clan into its best years by expanding our power and married Mom. Now it's my turn to outdo the two of them."

"Got any ideas?"

"A few, but they're still in the rough stage." She hears amusement in his voice, and blames it on her grogginess.

The following minutes are quiet and uneventful, and Yura relaxes until her only focus is their quiet breaths and the swish of the bandages as Rikuo winds them expertly around her chest.

"Good news. Your injuries are mending nicely. Even better, they shouldn't leave much scarring."

She hums in acknowledgement and feels the sweep of Rikuo's fingers against her back as he carefully secures the bandages together. With a soft pat, he leans back and allows her to turn back toward him. She smirks as he examines his handiwork and nods with a bright smile.

"All finished."

"Guess I'll have to take your word for it." She traces the snug bindings with her fingertips and admits that the procedure seems a success. She drops her hands in her lap and looks the yokai commander in the eye with a grateful nod. "Thank you for your treatment, Nura-kun."

"It's no big deal," he insists, but a small, pleased smile curves his mouth at her thanks.

As he starts to gather the soiled wrappings, she closes her robe and downs the remainder of Zen's prescription. _And now the decisive moment._ Checking Rikuo's progress, and inwardly grinning when she sees the coast clear, Yura braces her hands on the futon and slowly pushes herself upright. _The least I can do is try to support myself. I'm not an invalid._

She doesn't complete her first step before the alarm sounds. "Don't even think about it." With a start, Yura eyes the boy's back, and he twists on his heels to regard her with a look that abruptly has her feeling one-foot shorter and ten years younger. _Moment gone._ Despite her injuries and the stern look aimed at her, she manages to stand tall and return Rikuo's gaze with defiance.

"Where are you going?" The question is deceptively innocent, and Yura raises a brow.

"To contact the Main House. They'll be wondering about me."

"Already done." She blinks in surprise, and Rikuo smiles. "Along with a couple threats aimed at me, they said to rest and focus on getting better."

_Damn._

"…Oh." With no way to retaliate, she plants herself back on the floor, hands folded on her thighs. At a loss for something to do with herself now that her plan has backfired, she stares at the patterns on her borrowed yukata, fingers plucking at a loose thread. Silence reigns in the room, before Rikuo releases a resigned sigh.

"Zen, and Ryuuji for that matter, told me to make sure you stay put…" With another sigh, he raises a hand and runs it through his hair. "But I guess it wouldn't hurt to stretch your legs a little."

He rises from his kneel on the floor and places the soiled bandages into a small plastic bag, which he ties off and pushes away. When he approaches and holds out his hand, she smiles and takes hold, using it as leverage to again rise to her feet. As she slowly straightens, his other arm wraps itself securely around her middle.

"You're okay?" he asks.

After a moment spent regaining her balance, she nods with determination. "Let's go."

The first few steps are awkward and painful as the two teenagers attempt to coordinate their movements. More than once, Yura is forced to lean heavily against Rikuo's side as her muscles spasm uncontrollably, and more than once, Rikuo asks after her wellbeing, mouth turned down in concern and disapproval. Eventually, they reach the edge of the veranda, and the few inches from the wooden structure to the grass below seems more like a jump from Mount Hiei's summit.

Rikuo seems to notice their dilemma. "Hmm. This is going to be tricky." He turns his gaze to Yura, expression sheepish. "I have an idea, but I'm not sure you'll be willing."

She winces as another spasm courses through her stomach. "What is it?"

"I can carry you."

Yura eyes him with skepticism, noting the slight skew of his glasses. "You sure?"

He shakes his head with a smile, and the spectacles slide further down his nose. "Just until we touch the grass. I don't mind."

Her lips purse at the idea before she sighs in defeat, knowing her body won't cooperate if she tries to walk on her own. "Alright."

With steady hands, Rikuo shifts his grip from her waist to her shoulders and bends to press his other arm against the backs of her knees. With minimal effort, he lifts her into the carriage of his arms, and she suppresses the urge to clamp her hands on his shoulders as her equilibrium is compromised. But with a couple clever maneuvers, Rikuo has them both situated.

"Sorry," she mutters, and at Rikuo's inquiring look, she explains. "Ryuuji always complains when he has to carry me. Says I'm 'too heavy to be lugging around everywhere'."

Sudden movement jostles her form as Rikuo laughs, the air expelled from his mouth ruffling her bangs. "I can easily imagine him saying something like that." He continues to chuckle as he turns to slide the door to the guest room closed. "Don't worry. You're not _that_ heavy."

As her personal crutch makes his way into the large yard, feet steady and uniform, Yura considers the strange emphasis in his words, lips pursed. When she spots the slight quirk of his mouth, an obvious attempt to hide humor, her eyes narrow. "Wait. What are you implying?"

The quirk widens at the same time his steps quicken. "Nothing."

"Liar." She pushes against his chest. "Put me down."

"Careful. I don't want to drop you."

"I'll walk by myself. Put me _down_."

Rikuo doesn't respond, only continues his long strides across the yard until they reach the giant sakura tree in the center, its laden branches creating pockets of shade near its trunk. It is here where Rikuo finally stops and lowers Yura to the ground, gently settling her against the aged wood before taking a seat next to her.

Yura crosses her arms and maintains her stern look. "You said you'd let me walk on my own once we were on the grass."

"From the veranda, it was only a few steps," he replies, shrugging. "I didn't mind."

"Is there anything you _do_ mind?" Her tone is only half sarcasm.

He angles his head to see her next to him, confusion lighting his features. "What do you mean?"

Yura makes her own shrug, letting her previous annoyance dim. "Nothing ever seems to bother you. There isn't anything that seems to get under your skin and make you itch." She breaks eye contact in favor of watching the light filter through the leaves. "Even at school, you go out of your way to do things for everyone, and they barely acknowledge it." She stops and squints her eyes at a shape in the leaves. "I'm just wondering if you ever get ticked at anything."

A breathy chuckle is her reply, and Yura looks to see Rikuo lounged against the tree, face tilted to the sunlit branches overhead. "That's a good question. Grandpa used to ask me that all the time. Apparently, my temper's too mild for yokai standards."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

He releases another huff of laughter. "When you're trying to lead hundreds of ayakashi, it is. For a long time, I tried to deny my yokai side, because I thought that being yokai meant being evil, hurting people." He tilts his head to eye her, eyes slightly crinkled in amusement. "Sounds familiar, huh?"

Yura drops her arms in her lap, too relaxed to become defensive. "I learned better," she mutters, a quiet admission that causes Rikuo's smile to soften.

"So did I."

"So that's why you're always helping people?"

"It used to be. I guess there's no reason to try so hard now, but 'old habits die hard,' I guess. And I like helping people, anyway." Yura smiles. _Expected that answer._

For the second time that afternoon, silence reigns over the pair, and Yura closes her eyes to the peace of a warm summer's day. The grass tickling her bare calves is lush, and she runs her fingers through the individual blades and feels the cool dampness of the dirt at their roots. The breeze carries the sounds of bees and cicadas, a minute buzzing that is unexpectedly soothing. The sun shining through the petals of the tree creates vibrant pigments of red, yellow, and white against her eyelids, warm and lingering.

In these moments, she forgets that she's incapacitated in a house of yokai. Her perception should be heightened, her eyes open and focused on the slightest movements in the shadows. She shouldn't be resting here, utterly serene, less than a foot away from the heir to the most powerful yokai clan in the world.

_That medicine must've done me in more than I originally thought._

"Yura?"

The muted call breaks through her meditation. "Yeah?"

"Have your beliefs really changed?"

Her face scrunches slightly at the impromptu question, and she opens her eyes to catch Rikuo already gazing at her, face both relaxed and earnest.

_He obviously wants the truth, but…_

Her answer is unsure. "I don't know."

He waits, patient as ever. And after a time, she gives.

"From the moment I first learned about yokai, I'd been taught the fundamentals of their natures, the foremost being evil. In my teachings, there was no such thing as 'good yokai,' only demons who came out at night and devoured humans like fodder." She smiles slightly and lowers her eyes to the grass underfoot. "Ghost stories, really."

"And you believe them." It is not an accusation, and she nods.

"At the time, there wasn't much I could do but believe. Our scrolls are filled with the atrocities yokai have committed. When you're seven years old, the images on those pages stick with you, and you can't help but trust them to be truth." She picks a blade of grass and methodically peels away its individual strands. "How can there be any good in creatures who commit such crimes?"

"For some, there's not any." He watches her fingers, his gaze distant before he refocuses on her face. "What changed?"

Her lips curl upwards, and she knots the green strands in the start of a braid. "I came here."

His voice reflects an answering smile. "I'm glad you did."

"Mm." She ignores the warmth in her stomach.

"So your feelings towards yokai now?" His voice is strange, and she momentarily pauses her braiding, wondering at the almost too casual pitch it suddenly takes.

"Don't know," she replies. "These days, I learn by interaction. I've met some good ones and some bad ones."

"And…that's good, right?"

She shrugs again, focusing her attention on her project. "I guess so."

He chuckles. "You don't sound too sure."

"It's not every day your belief system gets flipped on its head. I'm still figuring it all out, I think."

"Fair enough." Out of the corner of her eye, Yura sees the deliberation on his face, his head slightly tilted in thought. "You and I get along pretty well, despite the circumstances." His voice lowers in self-consciousness. "Though I guess it's safe to say you're not a huge fan of my yokai."

Yura remains silent, carefully plucking away those strands that escaped her green braid. Finished with her project, she hands the plait of grass to Rikuo, who takes it with a soft smile. As he studies it, she finally lifts a hand to finger his glasses back up on his nose. When he looks at her, she smirks. "They've been like that since we came out here."

His smile turns sheepish as he lifts his own hand to check their position. "Thanks. Sometimes I forget."

"You're right."

He blinks. "What?"

"About your night form. You're right."

He lowers his gaze, softly fingering the braid. "Mm."

"In that form, you're rude, obnoxious, arrogant, and stubborn. You always go out of your way to bring out my bad side."

With each word, she sees Rikuo slowly deflate, though he takes the blows without flinching.

"It's amazing how different you are from one form to the other." She sighs, a gust of air through her nose. "But I guess at the end of the day, even in your night form, you're still you. And that's okay."

She turns to meet his shocked gaze, and her lips quirk. "For all the yokai I've met, both good and bad, you stand out as one of most decent…even _if_ you're an ass half the time."

He's staring at her, his face blank and unreadable, his lips slightly parted, his brown eyes darkened to a shade resembling crimson. With a frown and a raised eyebrow, Yura meets his gaze, wondering at his lack of reaction, and eyes the grass plait now lightly clenched in his fingers.

_What's wrong with him? It's not like I haven't said this stuff before._

When her hand touches upon his to retrieve her gift, Rikuo snaps to attention, fingers unraveling to clasp with her own. At the same moment, he leans into her space, his other hand rising to lightly grip her shoulder. Instinctively, she tilts away, unprepared for his sudden proximity.

"You mean it," he murmurs. It's a statement. "You really mean what you say."

"What's wrong with you? Of course I mean it, I've said it before."

His eyes, previously locked with hers, lower slightly. "That first time, I wasn't completely sure. About a lot of things. I didn't think you were, either." He looks at her again. "It probably didn't help that I responded by kicking you into Kappa's pond."

She snorts. "Hence the fifty percent of you that's an ass. I have yet to get back at you for that."

"Here's your chance." Confused, she watches as his gaze transfers to her mouth, his cheeks tinged a light red. Despite his apparent shyness, he purposefully lifts his eyes back to hers, clearly stating his intent. When she remains frozen, dark eyes wide, he gradually decreases the remaining distance between them, and her heart jolts as the inches fade to centimeters. At the last possible moment, he stops and waits, breath held. Patient.

_Don't just sit there like a moron_, she berates herself, nerves pounding with overload._ Do something, Keikain, now! Scoot away, call Tanro, __**something**__!_

…She does nothing. Her thoughts frantically rotate through the foreseeable consequences, but her body remains utterly still as he smiles warmly before brushing his lips over hers once, twice, thrice, then pressing firmly.

_Save a couple of yōkai one day, kiss another the next. Good job, Yura. You have officially taken your first step on the road to degradation._

…_And it's more enjoyable than you thought it would be._

Yura surprises herself with a small inward smile before all conscious thought is heavily blanketed by sensation. Between them, Rikuo's fingers tangle with hers, and his other hand rises from its perch on her shoulder to cradle her cheek, digits tracing her jawline. The tempo of his kiss is languid, unhurried, and the tone is sweet-tempered and pure. Yura's arms remain flaccid, and she feels him smile as he grabs her hand and places it securely on his shoulder. Reflexively, her fingers bunch into his thin t-shirt, and he loosens them while giving their clasped hands a tender squeeze of reassurance. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Rikuo pulls away, and the sound of their lips parting sends a flush skating across her cheeks. When their eyes meet, there is an ease between them, even as their bodies minutely tremble with small aftershocks of sensation.

_Must be getting used to the major overhauls my life takes. _

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and he presses his cheek to hers. "I don't know what happened."

"You kissed me," she replies simply. _And I kissed you back._

Rikuo exhales heavily, his breath ghosting over her heated neck, and she suppresses a shiver. "Are you okay?"

"Besides a few burns, a couple bruises (_and a temperature of a hundred and twenty)_, I'm fine."

"Are you angry?"

Finally, the tremors cease long enough for her to shake her head with a small smile. "I don't know yet. Give me a minute."

Rikuo retreats to a respectable distance, his hand gliding across her cheek before falling to his side. However, he maintains the hold on their tangled fingers, and they hang lethargically between them. With his other hand, he removes his glasses and places them in his pocket.

Yura regards him with blankness, strands of black hair hanging against her flushed cheeks. Her yukata is loose and rumpled, and Rikuo can make out the stark white of her bandages peeking from the collar.

"What changed?"

He starts at the question, and recognizes it as the same query he gave her not ten minutes ago. Yura's gaze is still on him, sharp and unyielding.

He gives. "You trusted me." Her eyes widen, and he smiles lightly. "Back then, when your brother came and revealed my secret. Knowing that I had been lying to you, to everyone, all this time, knowing that I was yokai, you protected me." He shifts his weight slightly, and grips her fingers more tightly. "Even afterward, when you came to rest here and saw me in my night form…you trusted me."

"Other people trust you." She snorts slightly. "Probably more than me."

He nods. "Maybe. But over the years, as we grew closer, it stayed with me in the back of my head, that trust you gave me. And I thought about how natural it felt, for me to trust you in return, unconditionally, even if it was considered strange, even wrong, by some."

"And you don't think this is?" She nods to their hands, still locked tightly together, and he sighs.

"I didn't think too much, I suppose. I only knew how much I'd come to care, more than I thought I would, honestly. And I wondered what it meant, and if you felt the same."

"So this," and again, Yura gestures to their hands, "was some kind of experiment?"

"If it was, I already had a hypothesis, but it was still in the rough stage." His smile widens. "I still needed to test it."

"_Got any ideas?"_

"_A few, but they're still in the rough stage."_

Yura splutters. "You weren't talking your 'family tradition' at all. You were talking about us!"

He chuckles, his cheeks warming. "You caught that, huh? I was hoping to be a bit more subtle."

"The _hell_ you were! I'm not some science project for school!" She tries to wrench her hand free, eyes narrowed in indignation. He holds on tightly, eyes twinkling.

"I never said you were. Those were _your_ words, not mine."

"You're a prick, you know that?"

"But you like me," he counters, then holds her gaze, his expression sobering. "Right?"

She stops struggling, eyes going to the grass, anger dispelled quickly. She scrunches her brows, trying to give him a truthful answer, but unsure what that answer is.

"Does it bother you that I'm yokai?"

She immediately shakes her head. _Came to terms with that ages ago._

"Does it bother you that we're supposed to be enemies?"

She thinks. "Not as much as I thought it would," she admits.

"Well, we're both the heirs to our clans…" Rikuo trails off, noticing the flinch that jerks Yura's body and tightens her face. "Oh."

"I just don't know how it would work," she murmurs, peering at him beneath her eyelashes. "Along with all the other stuff you said, I just don't know."

Seeing her frustration, Rikuo gently tugs on their clasped hands, asking her to close their distance. Surprisingly, she doesn't put up a fight and accepts the embrace he offers in comfort. This time, she lifts her arms and rests them against his back, closing her eyes when he runs a hand over her spine.

"I don't know, either," he whispers. "…But I'd still like to try."

Yura sounds a sigh that turns into a light chuckle. "It might all go to hell."

"Mm."

"I'm not as sure about my feelings."

"I understand. Take your time." She feels him grin. "I don't mind."

"And I _still_ think you're an _ass_ half the time," she replies as she thumps both fists on his back for his jest.

"I'm sure I'll have to something to say to that tonight." At her snort, he withdraws slightly, his bangs brushing against her forehead.

"But, you know," he breathes, lips hovering over hers, "I _am_ pretty sure that we just outdid Dad and Grandpa." Chestnut eyes spark with a mischief he hasn't shown since his childhood. "I don't think either of them ever kissed the enemy."

Yura encounters a brief period of mental debate as she digests the magnitude of their choices; ultimately, it's a split-second decision that has her pushing forward with a muttered "shut up" to reclaim their earlier contact. Her impulsion is rewarded with a low, affectionate laugh that vibrates soothingly through her sore limbs and confirms her desire to stay, if only for a while longer.

_Maybe, just maybe, we can make this work._

* * *

"Father! Father!" Wakana glides down the walkways of Nura Manor, hand cupped around her mouth to project her voice further into the compound. As she rounds the corner, she stops, finally spotting the old man lounging on the veranda. With a half-exasperated huff, she approaches and places a tray of treats next to him before planting her hands on her hips. "There you are! You came and asked me to make you some sweets, and then you disappeared." When Nurarihyon doesn't respond, Wakana furrows her brows in confusion. "Father?"

"Forgive me, Daughter." The old man looks up at her and pats a spot nearby, where she seats herself. "I'm afraid something unexpected came up, and I forgot your lovely confections."

"Well, that's odd," the woman replies, giving him a teasing smile. "I don't recall a time you ever forgot about food, especially sweets."

"A day of firsts, apparently." Smirking, her father-in-law points a gnarled finger in the direction of the giant sakura tree, where two figures are partially obscured by its large trunk. Wakana squints to see them more clearly, and blinks when the scene becomes clear. "Oh."

Nurarihyon chuckles audibly. "Your little boy's all grown up, eh?"

"It certainly seems so." Wakana watches the couple a moment longer before smiling. "But I approve." She turns to Nurarihyon. "Do you, Father?"

The old man strokes the few hairs of his beard, eyes still observing. "They make an interesting pair, don't they?" Finally, he shrugs, a smirk on his lips. "Then again, the Nura Clan has never been known for doing things the easy way. Ultimately, the journey is theirs to take. Perhaps they can knock the old farts off their high horses and bring in a new era, where things aren't so set in stone."

Wakana's lips purse in concern. "You think there will be opposition?"

"Most likely." Nurarihyon reaches to take a sesame-coated treat from the tray, smiling when he recognizes his favorite flavor. "But nothing we haven't handled before. They're tough; I think they'll be fine."

His daughter sighs, gazing nostalgically at the pair. "I hope you're right."


End file.
